


I Can't Go On Without You

by destielonfire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Castiel, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Dean Being Dean, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, It's For a Case, M/M, Season/Series 12, Self-Denial, Self-Esteem Issues, Sharing a Bed, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-13 23:12:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9146257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destielonfire/pseuds/destielonfire
Summary: Something is killing couples who participated in a secret Valentine's Day ritual, leaving Dean and Castiel with no choice but to go undercover as a couple to investigate the murders. But when the ritual uncovers some long-buried truths, will this mean the start of something new between them?





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prompt fill fic for the lovely Iwona aka @mishcollins on tumblr. Her prompt was:  
>  Please tell me you'd be inspired by "morning sunshine" and I dunno fake relationship destiel au?
> 
> I managed everything except the AU part, so...sorry? I hope you still like it, though!  
>  This is an S12 canon-divergent AU (it takes place sometime between episodes 2 and 6) in which Castiel didn’t leave to go find Lucifer with Crowley.
> 
> Betaread by the lovely [Jhoom](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jhoom/pseuds/jhoom). Be sure to check out her destiel fics, they're awesome!

“And how long have you two lovebirds been together?” The waitress was young and blonde, wearing skinny jeans and heels that were way too high for the type of work she did. She was just Dean’s type, really. Or, well, she would’ve been. Before…

“Almost eight years,” Castiel says, smiling fondly at Dean and giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze with the arm he’d slung over Dean’s shoulder a few minutes earlier. It had been that exact gesture that had caught the waitress’ attention.

She’d come up to them and started fawning over them while she refilled their coffee cups. Obviously, she thought they were a _cute_ couple. He had been so utterly unprepared for the barrage of questions, he’d completely frozen up. But Castiel – the smooth bastard – had picked up the slack and answered every question she had with quiet confidence.

Truth be told, Dean was kind of impressed with Castiel’s acting skills.

Because it _was_ an act. And Dean had simply lost the coin toss.

It had all started a few days ago, when they’d been busy looking for a new case. A piece in the newspaper about a town that had a yearly festival completely dedicated to Valentine’s Day had caught Sam’s eye.

The article mentioned a secret ritual that that took place on the eve of the 14th that only couples were allowed to attend. It was supposed to bless couples’ relationships – making sure they’d get their happily ever after. Only a few were allowed to attend the ritual, so it became this exclusive thing that you had to apply (and pay through the nose) for, which was, of course, a big draw for tourists.

The part of the article that piqued Sam’s interest was the mention that some of the couples who had received the so-called blessing had died or committed suicide within two weeks of Valentine’s Day. Most deaths involved a knife or gun, or both.

The article didn’t go into any details but said that the locals didn’t like to talk about those couples, calling it a “curse” and blaming the couples’ bad luck on the fact they had split up after receiving the blessing.

It was enough of a lead to pursue it, so they’d decided that at least two of them could go, while another held the fort and kept looking for clues about Lucifer. They couldn’t afford to get sidetracked too much, yet being idle was also not in their nature.

Fast-forward to Dean losing the coin toss, sending in their application for the ritual – which Sam and his hacking skills made sure got accepted – and bringing them here on Valentine’s Day.

Dean had never been more uncomfortable in his life, surrounded by couples being sickeningly sweet and affectionate to each other. They’d only been here for an hour and already they were drawing unwanted attention. And Castiel…Well, it wouldn’t do to think about the things Cas was saying about him. Because they weren’t true, and Dean had to keep reminding himself of that fact.

 “Dean.”

With a start, Dean’s thoughts refocused on the diner, and on Castiel, who was holding his elbow and looking at him with a small, concerned frown. The waitress was gone.

He needed to get out of here – get some air. “Yeah, um, let’s go Cas,” Dean said gruffly. He threw a couple of bills on the table and stood. With Castiel a mere step behind him, they left the diner and stepped onto the sidewalk.

“Dean,” Castiel said again, far more softly this time, though the concern was still audible.

“What, Cas?” Dean followed his eyes down to their clasped hands. _Shit. When did that happen?_

“Are you alright? You seem very distracted,” Castiel asked, his frown deepening as Dean let go of his hand.

“Yeah, Cas, I’m fine. It’s just this place.” Dean shudders. “All the hearts and flowers and stuff. I'm really not looking forward to sleeping in our motel room of horrors.”

It was the pink wallpaper. It freaked him out.

“I agree that they seem to be taking Saint Valentine’s Day very seriously here. And I know how certain things associated with the holiday disturb you.” Castiel was obviously trying hard to commiserate with him, which Dean appreciated. He himself didn’t seem at all perturbed by the over-the-topness of it all, though.

“Come on man, you can’t tell me you like all this shit?” Dean gestured around vaguely.

Castiel leveled a neutral look at him.

“People are happy, Dean. Everyone here is celebrating their love. I find it a refreshing change from the circumstances we usually find ourselves in."

_Ouch._ He had him there. Dean had no response that _wouldn’t_ make him sound like a grouchy old love-hating guy, so he opted to give a small shrug, turn around, and start walking to where they had parked the Impala. They only had a few hours to prepare for the ritual, and they still didn’t know what it was they were hunting. They were running out of time.

* * *

Five hours of non-stop research later and still no dice. Only two hours remained until the ritual. Dean was seated at the small table in front of his laptop, while Castiel was sitting upright on one of the two single beds, consulting one of the Men of Letters tomes they’d brought with them.

“What are we missing here?” Dean sighed, frustrated. “I can’t find a single monster with an M.O. of killing couples, let alone on Valentine’s Day. Could this really be something we haven’t run into before?”

Closing his book carefully, Castiel crossed his legs and placed his elbows on his knees, resting his head on his hands. Dean couldn’t help but think he looked adorable like that.

“Maybe we are looking in the wrong place,” Castiel said thoughtfully. “Maybe it isn’t a monster at all, but a spirit.”

“But we researched deaths in the past ten years since these killings started happening and there was nothing notable. Nobody who died in a similar way, or would have reason to have a grudge against couples, or died in any particularly violent way, even. Christ, Cas, this town hasn’t had any murders besides these ones for years.”

“Maybe it was someone who never lived here in the first place, who was passing through and didn’t die here, but left something behind that tethered them to this town.”

Dean nodded slowly. “Yeah, I guess that could be the case, but if so, we’re fucked, aren’t we? How are we ever gonna be able to salt and burn either the corpse or the object if we don’t even know where it is?”

“The killings are tied to the couples, who all have one thing in common: the ritual. It seems logical to me that - if we are indeed looking for an object – it will be revealed to us when we attend the ritual.”

Dean gulped. He had been trying to avoid the ritual, hoping beyond hope that they would find whatever it was that was committing these murders and be able to dispatch it before the evening. That obviously wasn't in the cards anymore.

“I guess we’re really doing this, then.” He checked his watch. It was twenty past seven. Only forty minutes to go until they were supposed to meet in the city hall for the ritual, which would take place at a “mystery location”.

“You bring the salt, I’m sure you can smuggle it underneath that trenchcoat of yours.”

* * *

“Welcome, lovers, on this joyous moment on this very special day.” The woman’s voice was grating, her smile plastic and her outfit some kind of an unholy mix between lime green and soft pink, which deeply offended Dean’s sensibilities.

Castiel and he were standing at the back of a group of about six other couples, who all had eager, happy smiles on their faces. They were all holding hands or had their arms slung around each other, unable to resist the urge to touch each other. In order not to stand out and raise suspicion, Dean was standing so close to Castiel that their sides touched, and Castiel had placed his hand on the small of Dean’s back, making a barely perceptible rubbing motion.

The touch distracted him, which in turn made him frustrated. He was in no mood to deal with this chick’s bullshit. But they had no choice, so he just tuned her out while keeping an eye open for anything suspicious, or any object that might be connected to a ghost.

There wasn’t anything that pinged his radar. They were standing in a cavern-like room, the entrance of which was located in the basement of an old house on the outskirts of the village. The woman had just finished explaining that they suspected that highwaymen had used this building and its cavern as a hideout in the 19th Century before it got raided and cleaned out by the government. Decades after the town had been established, they’d finally excavated the cave and had found some markings related to Saint Valentine on the walls, which had led to the cave being declared a blessed place for lovers, creating plenty of commercial opportunities for the townsfolk.

The cave was sparsely decorated: a few fairy lights here and there and many candles to set a romantic mood. In the middle of the room, a bunch of chairs was set up in front of a large stone altar.

“…this brings us to tonight’s highlight – the blessing ritual of Saint Valentine.” The woman’s voice, suddenly pitched lower to sound more reverent, cut through Dean’s musings.

“For this, we will ask each couple to come up here to the altar and put these rings on each other’s finger.” The woman pulled a small ornamental box from a hidden compartment underneath the altar and slowly opened it. Dean craned his neck to see the contents.

_Bingo_. There, on top of a red velvet cushion, were two nearly identical golden rings encrusted with what looked like three tiny amethysts. Dean’s hand sought out Castiel’s and he squeezed to subtly get the angel’s attention. When Castiel turned to look at him, Dean put his lips close to Castiel’s ear so he could whisper.

“Those rings have gotta be it. But our lighter’s not gonna cut it. We need more firepower.”

As he spoke, Dean thought he could see Castiel shiver. Huh, so the angel _did_ get cold once in awhile. It _was_ pretty chilly in the cave. He hoped that the ritual would be over soon so they could plan to come back here with a propane torch and destroy the rings.

Meanwhile, the woman was explaining the significance of the rings. “These were found here in 1990, and are believed to belong to a couple whose love was exceptionally strong. They have some mysterious properties that you will soon experience for yourselves. We don’t know much more about their origins, but the fact that nine out of ten couples who have been blessed by these rings are still together (“or dead,” Dean interjected quietly, earning a glare from Castiel) should be proof enough of its incredible power.”

The woman carefully picked up the rings and placed them in the palm of her hand. “Now, if everyone will just take a seat, we will begin the blessing ritual.” She waited a few moments until they had all been seated. “Will the first couple please step forward to receive the blessing? Mr. and Mrs.……” She looked at the paper which presumably listed all participants. “Oh, excuse me, I mean Mr. Ament and Mr. Cameron. Please step forward.”

It took Dean a few seconds to realize she was calling them. She must be going in alphabetical order. _Damn, should’ve picked a different name_. He glanced at Castiel, who was looking at him calmly, obviously waiting to take his cue from Dean.

_Well, nothing for it then. Let’s just get this over with._

Dean gently grabbed Castiel’s elbow as they stood and pulled him along until they stopped in front of the altar, facing the woman. She smiled at them, and it seemed to be genuine this time. At least she didn’t seem to have a problem with them both being men – thank God for small favors.

She went to stand in front and between them – facing the other couples - and motioned Castiel and Dean to face each other as if it was a wedding ceremony. She held out the rings.

“Gentlemen, please take a ring in one hand and hold hands with your other free hand,” she instructed. Dean swallowed, his throat suddenly drier than the Sahara, but did as she said. Castiel’s hand was warm, Dean noticed. When their eyes met, Castiel’s mouth was curved into a small, soft smile. It unsettled Dean just how much he wanted to return that smile.

“Please repeat after me, Mr. Cameron.” She turned to Castiel, who nodded slightly but didn’t break eye contact with Dean.

“With this ring, I, Matt Cameron, swear to Saint Valentine to love and cherish you forever. I have no greater gift to give. As your love is my anchor, and your trust is my strength, may my heart be your shelter and my arms be your home. I give you all that I am and all that I shall become.”

Castiel dutifully repeated the speech word for word, voice clear and firm. Dean could almost fool himself that Castiel actually meant it. _Since when has he been this good of an actor?_ The thought made something in Dean’s chest ache.

“Do you have any personal words to say, Mr. Cameron?” The woman asked.

Castiel looked at Dean thoughtfully. _Holy shit, is he actually going to say something?_

“Only…” Dean tried to convey his panic with his gaze – _What was he doing?_ –, but Castiel continued undeterred. “Only that, though circumstances sometimes drive us apart, I will always find my way back to you, like you did to me. And I promise to always come when you call,” Castiel finished, his tone serious and sincere.

Dean knew he was turning red. He wanted desperately to pull Castiel aside and talk to him about what the fuck he thought he was doing, was _saying_ , but he had to keep his cool in front of all these people. He breathed in and out slowly a few times, trying to calm down.

“That’s lovely. Now, if you would put the ring on your partner’s hand.” The woman gestured towards the ring Castiel was holding.

When Castiel slid the ring – which fit perfectly – on Dean’s finger, it glowed briefly. Dean heard gasps and cries of “oh!” coming from the other couples, and saw the woman’s tiny self-satisfied smirk out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh, yes, please don’t be alarmed. This is part of the powers the rings hold. If the love of the speaker is true and he or she is found to have told no lies, the ring will fit perfectly no matter what the size of their partner’s finger, and it will glow as you have just seen, completing the blessing. We have had a few instances where this didn’t happen, and those times the ‘couple’” (Dean could hear the disdain in the woman’s voice) “in question had turned out to be undercover reporters or their love had not been strong enough.”

She raised her voice a little to make sure everyone clearly heard her. “A word of warning: if you don’t think your bond is strong enough, now would be the time to step down. The ring _will_ reveal your true feelings, and it is said to bring bad luck to couples who are not worthy of its blessing.”

She paused for a few moments to let the crowd absorb this before turning back to Castiel and Dean, the bright smile returning to her face. “Anyway, let’s return to the ritual. Mr. Ament, it’s your turn now. Repeat after me.

Taking a deep breath, Dean opted to look down at their joined hands instead of at Castiel’s face. He didn’t think he could do this at all while looking Castiel in the eye.

“With this ring, I, Jeff Ament,..” Dean almost choked on the words. Partly because they were sappy as fuck and that was really not his kind of thing. But mostly because he wasn’t sure that the ring _wouldn’t_ glow and fit perfectly on Castiel’s finger. And that scared the hell out of him.

His hands shook as he grabbed Castiel’s wrist and turned his palm down. Despite the chill of the cave, he felt hot and flustered and breathless. He needed to _breathe_. But he was stuck here, in front of a room full of witnesses to his mortification. He needed to get this over with, _now_.

The ring slipped easily on Castiel’s finger before fitting snugly around it. The glow wasn’t all that bright, not really, but it made Dean’s eyes itch and water. He still hadn’t looked at Castiel, _couldn’t_ look at him. He was afraid of what he’d find.

“Do you have any personal words, Mr. Ament?” the woman asked.

“N-no,” Dean stuttered. His vision was getting a bit hazy around the edges, and he knew his heartbeat was going twice as fast as usual. It was like his fight or flight response had kicked in, and everything inside him was screaming at him to _flee_.

“Very well,” she said, sounding disappointed, “please remove the rings and take a seat. Next up: Mr. and Mrs. Bailey. Please step forward.”

Dean removed the ring so fast he almost dropped it, and quickly returned to his seat, not even checking to see if Castiel was right behind him. When Castiel sat down next to him a few moments later, Dean could feel the man’s gaze on his face. He resolutely refused to look at Castiel, instead opting to watch the couples and feigning genuine interest.

The ritual finished about thirty minutes later, and they were brought back to the town square in a bus and dropped off there. Dean and Castiel still hadn’t exchanged a word, and the short drive back to their motel was silent, too. Dean knew it couldn’t last, though. As soon as the door of their twin room shut behind them, Castiel would want to talk. So Dean was determined to talk first.

“Listen,” he said, twisting around to face Castiel as soon as they were in the room. “I don’t know what was up with those rings, but it’s obviously either a cheap parlor trick these townsfolk has made up to screw with people’s heads, or it’s the spirit screwing with us all. Either way, it’s bullshit.”

Part of Dean expected Castiel to look disappointed, angry or even sad. Instead, he looked resigned…like he was expecting Dean to say this and had accepted it already.

“I mean…” Dean hesitated, not sure why he was still speaking but hating that look on Castiel’s face. “We don’t have any proof at all that what that lady said about those rings is actually true, right?”

“No, we don’t,” Castiel said simply. And that was that – end of discussion. Castiel agreed with him. Dean had won.

Too bad it felt like a defeat instead.

* * *

When they returned to the cave a few hours later, it turned out to be pathetically easy to sneak in – the only thing blocking their way being a heavy, barred door and security cams monitoring the entrance. This suited Dean fine; at least he didn’t have to ask Castiel to put his sleep whammy on any guard.

The security cams were swiftly taken care of by Dean, who’d brought his laptop, hacking into the feed and using a program Charlie had devised for occasions like this to put the image on a loop so nobody would be tipped off. The door didn’t stand any chance against Castiel, and they were able to enter the cave without any disturbances.

Trying the light switch yielded nothing so they had to use their flashlights. It seemed like the chairs had been stowed away somewhere because the center of the room was empty save the altar. Castiel used his strength to rip open the safety box that contained the rings. “Come on,” Dean said, looking around anxiously, “let’s torch them before Casanova ghost shows up.”

When Castiel moved to the center of the room to place the rings on the ground, Dean froze. “Dean, what’s wrong?” Castiel asked, noticing the sudden change in Dean’s demeanor.

“Your breath,” Dean said simply.

Castiel’s next exhale made a puffy white cloud in the air.

“Cas, duck!” Dean roared, raising his shotgun and waiting only a second until Castiel had rolled away to fire off a round of rock salt into the ghost that had appeared behind the angel.

The ghost shrieked and disappeared. Dean ran towards Castiel, who was already back on his feet, and they faced off in opposite directions with their backs against each other, using their flashlight to catch a glimpse of the spirit.

“It was a guy,” Dean said hurriedly. “Looks like he killed himself ‘cause he had a nice hole in the side of his head.”

“Where did you leave the propane torch?” Castiel asked him.

“In the backpack beside the door,” Dean replied, shining his flashlight towards the door. The shiny label of the torch peeking out of the open bag reflected the light back at him.

“Dean, on your right!” Dean twisted his body to the right and saw the ghost flickering into existence but wasn’t fast enough to avoid being punched in the face. He fell, hitting his left shoulder hard, his flashlight skittering a few feet away.

Disoriented, he didn’t see Castiel grapple with the ghost but he could hear them nearby. _Damn, should’ve brought a crowbar or something._ Luckily his shotgun had fallen right next to him so he was able to grab it easily.

His eyes fell on the ring box, still lying on the floor in the center of the room. The ghost was a distraction, he just had to get to the torch and then it would be over.

Dean struggled to his feet, feeling groggy, and was just about to go for his flashlight (he didn’t fancy trying to find the torch in the dark) when he heard a thud indicating that Castiel had gone down. This must be one heck of a powerful ghost if Castiel had difficulties incapacitating it.

“You dare defile my wedding ring!” The ghost’s voice was low and growly and seem to come from everywhere at once. It was also strangely accented, but Dean had problems placing it. It was clear, however, that English wasn’t the ghost’s native language.

“Yeah, so sorry about that buddy,” Dean quipped as he helped Castiel get back on his feet. “Though we’re doing you a favor, ‘cause – and I just _hate_ to break this to you – they didn’t work as advertised.”

“Is that what you think?” The voice sounded amused, which Dean took as a personal offense. Obviously, they weren’t intimidating enough if the ghost was able to find humor in this situation.

Though he didn’t turn his head, he could sense Castiel backing away from him, towards where he guessed the torch was. The angel probably didn’t need the flashlight as much as Dean did, and could figure out where the torch was through his heightened senses. He had to distract the ghost, keep the attention on him and off Castiel.

“I don’t _think_ , I _know_. It did the glowy thing when Cas and I did that stupid ritual. And – newsflash – we were just fakin’ it.” Dean made sure to sound extra smug, just to piss the ghost off, who still refused to show itself.

“How pathetic you are Dean Winchester,” the ghost said condescendingly, and before Dean could react to the fact that _holy shit the guy knew his full name_ , the ghost appeared in front of him, ripped the shotgun from his hands and actually _headbutted_ him.

As Dean went down ( _again_ ), he did manage to grab the small pouch filled with salt he’d clipped to his belt, but before he could use it, the ghost had his arms pinned and was straddling him. Up close the head wound looked grotesque, and the ghost’s eyes were feral.

Dean could see movement out of the corner of his eye, and knew Castiel would not need that much more time, if he could only hold on just a bit longer… 

“I can see into the mind of anyone who is touching either one of the rings. The only thing you lied about was your names.” The ghost grinned triumphantly. “And now you will die with the knowledge that you are too much of a coward to admit your true feelings. And your lover will get to watch you die, just like I had to watch my sweet wife get murdered in front of my eyes.”

The ghost released one of his hands and Dean sent up a silent prayer of thanks that it was the hand that held the salt pouch. Evidently the ghost hadn’t seen him grab it. As the ghost’s hand curled around his neck with the intent to choke him, dean squeezed the pouch open and dumped the contents onto his head.

It wasn’t much – not enough to make the ghost disappear – but it disoriented him enough to loosen his grip. Dean brought up an elbow and hit the ghost hard in the head, knocking him off his body and rolling to the side.

“Dean, move!” He looked up in time to see Castiel ready to use the torch, his flashlight fixed on the ring box that was only a couple of feet away from Dean.

In one smooth movement that Dean would later brag to Sam about when he told the story, Dean jumped to his feet, grabbed the still stunned ghost, and threw him away from the box to buy Castiel the seconds he would need to light the box on fire.

He heard a whoosh behind him as Castiel lit the box, and looked back to see it already starting to melt.

Picking up his abandoned shotgun, he pointed it towards the ghost, but saw that it would no longer be necessary to shoot him; he was already slowly disintegrating into black ash. Dean simply watched until there was nothing left.

Only then did he turn towards Castiel. “Thanks Cas, you saved my bacon. Again.” Dean walked up to him and clapped him on the back. “We’ll make a true hunter out of you yet.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow at him. “I see. So how does it feel being rescued _again_ by a trainee hunter?” He asked mockingly.

Dean grimaced. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I? C’mon let’s just get out of here. I’m beat. Literally.”

They cleaned up quickly and efficiently, trying to leave as little trace behind as possible. Dean made sure to fire off a text to Sam to let him know that the hunt had ended successfully and that they were more or less unharmed. Castiel was silent, contemplative. Dean, on the other hand, tried to think about anything but what the ghost had said.

He almost succeeded, too.

* * *

When they got back to the motel, all Dean wanted to do was take a shower and sleep. He was totally exhausted, and so not ready to have the long overdue conversation.

“Dibs on the shower,” he said, not even looking back at Castiel and making his way towards the tiny bathroom. That was of course when his cellphone rang, because Sam always did have impeccable timing.

“What, Sammy? I’m tired and I really need a shower. Can’t it wait?”

“Wow, someone’s cranky. Don’t worry, this won’t take long, just put me on speaker so Cas can hear this too.”

Dean put the phone on speaker and held it up towards Castiel, who came closer so he could hear Sam properly.

“Done. Speak,” Dean grunted.

“Okay caveman Dean. So, when you told me last night about the rings and that it was likely a spirit you were hunting, I did some digging. Turns out there’s one famous serial killer who went after couples while he was alive. He was called Il Mostro, the Monster of Florence. He was active in Florence between 1968 and ‘85, and his MO was shooting and stabbing his victims. Several men have been arrested and convicted of the crime at different times, but those convictions were widely criticized, even ridiculed. Most people believe he was never caught.”

“Hmm,” Dean pursed his lips. “That actually makes sense. When he talked to us I could hear a heavy accent in his voice, but I couldn’t tell where it was from. Italian would fit.”

“I concur,” Castiel said. “The accent was definitely Italian.”

“That’s probably him, then. I’m guessing he didn’t come up in our research because, technically, he could very well still be alive and isn’t suspected to be dead by the authorities,” Sam continued. “But if he for some reason fled to America after ’85 and then passed through this town…Didn’t you say the rings had been found in 1990? The dates fit.”

“He did say that he had watched his wife be murdered in front of him. Perhaps that was why he went after couples, both in life and death, and especially those he deemed undeserving of their happiness? Because that happiness had been so cruelly taken away from him?” Castiel mused.

Castiel really _could_ empathize with anyone, even a dead serial killer. It was one of his greatest strengths, though many, among which his angel brethren, would say it was also one of his biggest weaknesses. His empathy for humans never did him any favors, that was for sure, Dean thought bitterly.

“I guess we’ll never know, though it sounds plausible enough,” Sam said. “Anyway, I’ll let you get some rest. I’ll see you guys tomorrow?”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow sasquatch. Don’t let the bedbugs bite,” Dean quipped.

“Haha very funny jer-” Sam’s annoyed voice got cut off as Dean hung up on him.

“Finally, I can go and take my damn shower,” Dean said, already making his way back to the bathroom. He closed the door on a silent Castiel.

Dean quickly stripped before stepping under the warm spray and blissfully strong water pressure. Alone with his thoughts, he couldn’t help but think back on what the ghost had said to him. About being able to read his mind. About nothing that they had said being a lie.

It’s not like he didn’t know that his feelings for Castiel weren’t platonic – hadn’t been for a long, long time. He knew; he just wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ , deal with them. Every time he thought the moment might’ve been right, every time he tried, life had interfered, or he’d been rebuffed, plain and simple.

Purgatory, the crypt and angel tablet…It still hurt to think about those moments, no matter how many years ago they were. And so much had happened since then. He’d mourned Castiel’s death more than once. He’d cast out a recently turned human Castiel on the streets, rendering him homeless. He’d done and said horrible things to Castiel when the Mark of Cain had almost consumed him.

They’d been through so much shit together. Too much, Dean had thought. Better to be like this, to be brothers, and to hope beyond hope he wouldn’t fuck _that_ up, too. And yet…

_“I will always find my way back to you, like you did to me. And I promise to always come when you call.”_

The memory of Castiel’s words – of his vow – rose in his head, unbidden. He could hear Castiel say it clear as a bell. Suddenly, it made Dean angry. How fucking _dare_ Castiel say something like that to him. What was he supposed to do with that, especially after the sappy, romantic words that had preceded it? Adding this personal message that was very obviously meant for Dean and nobody else, somehow made the scripted vow that came before it more real.

Dean didn’t register that he’d punched the shower wall until he felt a sudden stinging pain in his fist. He breathed in deeply and tried to regain his calm.

Was it Castiel’s way of making sure Dean knew that he wasn’t acting? Did he _want_ Dean to know he meant what he said?

Either way, with what the ghost had said, the cat was out of the bag. There were two things he could do now. He could continue as he had been doing this entire accursed hunt and ignore it. Or he could take a leap of faith, as Castiel had done so many times for him in the past. Hadn’t it all started with that?

Dean exited the shower in a haze, still unsure of what he should do. It didn’t help that Castiel had been so silent about the whole thing. He’d allowed Dean to brush off the ring debacle yesterday evening without protest, and hadn’t broached the topic himself at any point.

He dressed quickly, putting on one of his favourite tshirts and jeans. The familiar clothes gave him a small measure of comfort, something he desperately needed right now. Plus, if they were going to have a conversation, he sure as hell wasn’t doing it in his underwear.

When he left the bathroom, he saw Castiel sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard and reading one of the lore books they’d brought with them. Dean had been quiet, so Castiel had not noticed his return yet, which gave him a rare opportunity to really look at the angel without getting stared down.

Not that he _didn’t_ enjoy the way Castiel looked at him sometimes - like he was important, precious, worthy, _good_. He craved those looks even as he could barely stand them, because he didn’t deserve them, not really, and as soon as Castiel finally figured that out they would stop and he would leave. Dean couldn’t bear the thought of Castiel not looking at him like that anymore.

But the looks hadn’t stopped yet. And Castiel had just reaffirmed in front of a crowd of witnesses that he would always come back to Dean. He’d opened up, made himself vulnerable and put the ball in Dean’s court. He was _here_ , lying on their shared bed, in this horrifyingly pink motel room looking so _human_ , so reachable that it made Dean ache with longing.

Castiel looked up then, fixing his eyes on Dean with _that_ look - that look that made Dean want to be brave. For him. For them.

It was Castiel that broke the silence. “You know I can still hear you, right?” He asked mildly, voice even as he put the book down and stood up slowly, as if trying to avoid making any sudden movements that would spook a scared animal. That was fair, Dean supposed. He did have the tendency to lash out when he was feeling cornered.

“I try not to,” he added, “because I know you dislike me being a ‘peeping tom’, as you call it.” There were the audible quotation marks again. Castiel had really become more sarcastic lately.

“But I can’t help but overhear when your... _thoughts_ …are so loud. I apologize,” he finished. Ever the gentleman, sparing Dean’s pride by not mentioning the obvious.

At Dean’s continued silence, Castiel spoke up again, walking a few paces closer in the process. “I am only telling you this because I respect your privacy and I wanted to remind you that I have no control over being able to hear you when you are so loud.” He stopped a few feet away, his fidgeting hands the only sign of his anxiety.

“Cas,” Dean started, “I know, okay? I know it’s not your fault and I don’t blame you so don’t apologize to me okay? It’s my own fault that I can’t keep my - “ he hesitated - “thoughts in line.”

Castiel nodded but said nothing. Clearly he was leaving the topic of discussion up to Dean, giving him an out, a chance to simply ignore all that happened if that was what he wanted.

“Did...” Dean swallowed nervously, knowing that if he continued this sentence he’d have to see this conversation through to the end, whatever it may be. But he could admit to himself that he desperately wanted to see what that end might be.

“Did you really mean what you said earlier? I know what that asshole ghost said, but I don’t wanna hear that from him. I wanna hear it from you.”

Castiel held his gaze. “Every word.” He smiled a small and self-deprecating smile. “Don’t worry, this doesn’t have to change anything. Besides,” he finally looked away. “I think you knew this already.”

“Maybe,” Dean replied, “but hearing you say it...it means a lot to me. Shit, you know I’m no good at this kinda thing, but you deserve to hear that from me, at least. Thank you.” The sincerity in Dean’s voice made Castiel look up at him again. Unconsciously, he stepped closer to Dean.

“You’re welcome.”

Dean wasn’t done yet. He had to know if the rest was true as well. He had to hear it. He knew he was leaving the heavy lifting of this conversation on Castiel’s shoulders, but he needed to know the angel wanted this - he needed that final push.

“And the rest?” He didn’t need to clarify what he meant. Castiel would know exactly what he was talking about.

“Will you keep asking questions you already know the answer to?” Castiel sounded indifferent, but his hands were fisted around his trenchcoat and he was standing unnaturally still.

“I guess not.” Dean released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, running a hand through his hair. “Fuck, Cas, are we really doing this now? This... _thing_ between us has been there for so long, I don’t know if I can….”

“Dean.” Castiel’s tone had changed. He sounded stronger and determined, now, as if he was finally taking charge of the situation. He probably thought he had nothing to lose at this point. “Until a few weeks ago I thought you were dead, that Amara had killed you. Do you understand how that made me feel? I looked at the sun being restored and all I could think about was _you_.”

Castiel’s breath hitched and he swallowed thickly before continuing. “I respected your wish for me to stay behind and look after Sam, but it tore me apart. Understand that whatever happens next, should you ever have to face something like that again, I _will_ come with you, whether as a friend or a brother or in whatever way you’ll have me - it doesn’t matter. Just know that I won’t ever let you leave me behind again.”

Dean’s eyes were burning, his fingers twitching with the need to wipe at them, though he managed to keep himself in check. Castiel was beautiful like this - fierce, steadfast, utterly unapologetic about his feelings for Dean. The least Dean could do was return that fierce loyalty and devotion with some honesty.

And, really, why _not_ now? There’d never been a better time for them to give whatever they had between them a chance. For once in a long, _long_ time, they weren’t under the influence of a spell, a mark, mind control, leviathan or anything else. Sure, Lucifer was free, and that was something that they would have to deal with.

But he was hardly the same threat like he was before, when he almost kickstarted the apocalypse. Then there were the British Men of Letters whose motives and intentions were still a huge question mark. But, again, not exactly a threat on a world-ending scale. They would handle it - as they always did - together. Sammy, Cas and him and even mom because she _had_ to come back at some point, right? They could finally be a family again.

So why not now?

“I know, Cas. I know, and it’s more than I deserve...When has looking out for Sam and me ever worked out for you, huh? It’s been nothing but a world of pain. We’re bad luck for you, and I’ll be damned all over again if I’m gonna let you go through more suffering because of me. You deserve better than me, Cas.”

The words tumbled out, but Dean didn’t want to stop them. He needed to say this, and Castiel needed to hear it. Because _this_ was exactly the reason why, even now, Dean felt it couldn’t work, _shouldn’t_ work. Because he was Dean Winchester, and he always managed to find a way to make people leave - either by getting them killed or by destroying whatever good existed between them.

“Dean!” Castiel’s voice pulled him out of his dark thoughts, made him refocus on the angel, who was now standing so close to him he could feel the heat radiate off his skin. He looked pissed off - probably fed up with Dean’s bullshit. Dean ached to touch him.

“Stop. I know what you’re thinking because I know _you_ and it has to stop. I swear that even if it literally takes me an eternity I _will_ make you see that no matter how you think about yourself, I will _never_ regret choosing humanity - choosing _you_. Not for a single moment. And I truly don’t care if there’s, as you say, more pain and suffering in my future. Whatever’s to come, I’ll face it gladly, as long as I am with you.”

As he spoke, he was slowly lifting his arm and by the end was gently cupping Dean’s cheek.

Dean’s eyes were shining, his breathing labored and his nostrils flaring with the effort not to start crying. He laid his hand over Castiel’s and moved his head to the side to press a soft kiss on Castiel’s palm.

“You never did know what was good for you, you stubborn bastard,” he chuckled, smiling at Castiel as he caressed the hand he was still holding. “I’ve never been more grateful for that.”

Without another word, Dean pressed himself up against Castiel and kissed him. It was a hungry, desperate kiss in which Dean poured all the words he’d left unsaid, like _I need you_ , _thank you_ , _never leave me_.

He could feel Castiel’s arms come up around him, could feel that they were both trembling with pent up need. The kiss seemed like it would never end - and for Castiel it probably never had to. He didn’t have to breathe, after all. But Dean was only human, so eventually he had to break for air. He kept their foreheads together, their lips merely inches apart. He couldn’t bear not touching Castiel right now.

“I hate myself for even suggesting this, but we shouldn’t do….more than this, tonight. Not here, not in this shithole,” Dean half-whispered, pressing another small kiss on the corner of Castiel’s mouth.

“Plus I’m beat, barely thinking straight. Let’s just go home tomorrow, okay? I want us to take our time, in my -” He paused, meeting Castiel’s eye almost shyly. “...In _our_ bed.”

When Castiel didn’t respond immediately, Dean’s nerves suddenly flared up. Did he cross a line? Was he moving too fast? Did Castiel not want to share a room, share a bed, yet?

“Stop screaming in my head Dean, of course I want to move in with you,” Castiel said, rolling his eyes. “Will you at least wait until I respond before you ‘freak out’? I was actually going to say that I think that’s the most sensible thing you’ve said all day.”

Dean narrowed his eyes in annoyance. “Oh yeah, well, here’s another ‘sensible idea for you’: shut up and kiss me you arrogant dick.”

“Says the man who claims to hate, and I quote, corny li- hmpf.” Dean’s lips were on a mission to cut off any further sass from Castiel. When they fell asleep (or at least Dean did) later, wrapped up in each other’s arms on the kingsize bed beneath the fluffy red comforter, lips red and swollen and a warm smile on their faces, Dean counted it as a win.

* * *

Dean woke up confused the next morning. It took him staring at the bubblegum pink walls for a few moments until he’d processed everything that had happened the day before. The warm arm wrapped around his waist and the palm splayed open wide against the slight softness of his stomach was proof enough that it hadn’t been a dream. Castiel was here, in bed, with him, and they were spooning and Dean didn’t even care that he was the little spoon.

He was so far gone on his angel he could even admit he liked it. A lot.

He made a low, almost purring sound as he felt chapped lips press a warm kiss against the nape of his neck. He turned around, thinking he could very well get used to seeing Castiel’s face first thing every morning.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” he murmured, running his fingers through Castiel’s impressive bedhead. The guy didn’t even sleep but you’d never know it from the disastrous state of his hair.

“Good morning Dean.” Oh and he had the gravelly, scratchy barely-awake voice down pat. Dean could get addicted to that voice.

“Want some coffee before we hit the road?” he asked. Sleep or no sleep, Castiel really enjoyed a cup of coffee in the morning. It had already been somewhat of a ritual of theirs before all this.

“No, thank you,” Castiel said. “Checkout is in less than an hour and I am eager to head back home. Away from prying eyes and a motel room you are so obviously uncomfortable in.”

“Why, Castiel,” Dean grinned, “it kinda sounds like you want me all to yourself. Like you wanna do some exploring in _our_ bed.”

Castiel looked at him with a serious, almost grave expression on his face. “And what if I do? Would that be okay?”

Dean was hit again by Castiel’s honesty, by his open desire for him. Most people would’ve responded to Dean’s teasing with a flirtation, a playfully evasive answer. Castiel, however, was not most people.

“Ah man, don’t ever change,” Dean chortled, and couldn’t resist meeting Castiel’s lips in a sensual, drawn out kiss.

“I think,” he said, interrupting himself to place on last butterfly kiss on Castiel’s jaw, “that’s the most sensible idea you’ve had all day.”

Luckily for Dean, the day had only just started, and Castiel turned out to be full of great ideas.

**Author's Note:**

> The town is completely made up. Vows are partially taken from [this site](http://offbeatbride.com/wedding-vows/). The ghost is actually based on a real-life serial killer nicknamed Il Mostro, but of course all that stuff about him coming to America, being married etc. is fiction.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. If you liked it, I would really appreciate it if you left a comment and/or kudo.  
> Also, fans of my work will be glad to see my habit of using song lyrics/titles as fic titles continue :) Shout out to kaleo for being an awesome band!
> 
> Please come yell at me on my tumblr [destielonfire](http://destielonfire.tumblr.com).  
> 


End file.
